Just Alice

He was minding his own business, fishing there up on the bridge and not catching much at all when she went and showed up. The only thing biting were the ‘squitoes and deerflies in the heat of the summer haze. And although he had his line dipped in the cool fishing hole swirling about in the creek below the bridge, and there were plainly river trout with their speckled bellies flashing in the noontime sun, he was not catching a thing. Not that was surprising at all to him, seeing as he had neither baited his line nor tied a hook at the end of the line for which he might bait.

The way Hank saw it, if you put a hook on a fishing line, you were apt to catching something at the end of it even without bait. He had seen it happen that the fish would get all glammed up by the shine of the sun on the metal and decide that if something were so shiny, well then it might be tasty too.

And, if you caught fish, then you were apt to catch one big enough to make a decent meal of and then Hank would have to go through the hassle of cleaning the fish before he could eat it. And he was in no mood to go cleaning fish this day. Or, most days he reckoned. Cleaning fish was too much like work and, as his mother always said, Hank had a chronic allergy to such things.

So he sat there, dangling his fishing line in the eddies of the creek as he whiled away the hot part of the day, tsking at the appropriate intervals as if to suggest he were earnestly trying to catch a fish — just in case someone passed by and wondered why Hank were having such bad luck with the old fishing hole that was productive as hell for most folks. Sucking spit through he teeth, he would mutter about the lack of interest in his line or his bedeviled luck on the off-chance someone happened by within earshot.

As Hank nattered on about the lack of activity, he caught her in sideways in his eye as she ran like a streak between the river birch on the bank opposite town. She weren’t hardly much thicker than those saplings just starting to take on the shade of paper. It caught Hank off his game, and his chatter drifted off like the gentle breeze blowing though had gone done and stole it from him and he sat there slackjawed in spite of all the shaming and grief he would get from anyone might catch him with his mouth open wide enough to catch those flies that bedeviled him on the bridge.

Hank caught himself and slammed his trap shut. But he was quick enough to open it again. “Who’s that?” he shouted. “C’mon now, I already saw you lurking about. Tell me you is and come out, or I’ll come drag you out of them bramble and hide you for being a sneak.”

She stuck her dirty face around the corner of the birch. “You canna hide me, you ain’t my pa or ma.”

“I’ll whoop that tiny rear of yours red, you keep sassing me like that, I’m your pa or not. What’s your name, you dirty little monkey?”

As she slipped out into the open, Hank could see she was barefoot, which was not the thing to be down there by the birch trees. “Alice.”

“Girl, you ain’t got no shoes on. You better get up on this bridge, Alice, ‘fore you step on a broken beer bottle one of the James boys chuck that direction when they fish from the bridge.”

Alice looked around and watched her step as she tip-toed a two-step on her way to the gravel road leading up to the bridge.

“Alice who? Who’s your parents?” Hank asked as she got away from waterside and up on the bridge. “And where’s your shoes?”

“Just Alice,” she replied. “An’ I ain’t got none.”

Hank rest his fishing pole across his legs. “Whatcha mean, Alice? You ain’t got parents? You ain’t got no shoes?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Girl, I think you’re still sassing me.”

“I ain’t! Swear! I’ll run away if you gonna whoop me.”

Hank knew was no good with kids, which is why he never got around to having any. Well, there was the matter than he was not exactly considered a prime catch by any of the ladies he knew and that kept him from procreating some. But if he had the chance to get someone with kids, he would probably pass.

“I ain’t gonna whoop you. Now come here and explain how you ain’t got no parents or no shoes, Just Alice. Are you saying you ain’t got either?”

“Alice only. Not Just Alice. And no, I ain’t got either shoes or no parents no more.”

“You wanna tell me how you managed to misplace not only your shoes, but your parents too, Alice Only?”

“No no no. Just Alice. They got dead.”

“I thought you said Alice Only, now we’re back to Just Alice? Girl, you need to make up your mind which it is.”

The girl puffed up her cheeks and blew air out in frustration. “Alice. Not Just Alice. Not Alice Only. Alice, p—.”

She had opened her mouth to say “Period,” but caught herself, snapping her mouth shut. Hank had to struggle to hide his smirk.

“Alrighty, Alice. Let’s start with your shoes. Doncha know it ain’t safe to walk around with no shoes on your feet? You could step on anything and cut them to ribbons, or end up with a rusty nail going straight through.”

“I knows that. But it is what it is. I ain’t got no money, so’s I ain’t got no shoes.”

Hank thought about the donation bin set just inside Green’s Grocery. Because he was the type who was not to turn his nose up at charity, he had done his fair share of rummaging around in that box. And, is just so happened, he had done so on his way towards his afternoon non-fishing excursion. There been some shoes that were far too small for his big ol’ feet, but they might be just a size or so too big for Alice. Satisfied that he could maybe solve that little problem of hers, he looked up.

“And you parents?”

“They’re just gone. Went and got dead.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

She was looking down at the ground, avoiding eye contact with Hank. Well, Hank, he wasn’t one to push for answers if someone was not going to want to share any, so he let it go.

“You got anyone?”

“I’ve got Jess.”

“Who’s Jess?”

“My brother. He’s eleven. He’s out foraging.”

“Did he lose his shoes too?”

“Nah, Jess has Pa’s workboots. They’re too big now, but he says he’ll grow into them, just like Ma always used to say.”

Hank looked at the scrawny thing standing next to him. “Just forage? Does he find enough?”

She did not look up at Hank as she muttered, “Not usually.”

Hank pulled himself up using the old pine rail running the length of the bridge and stood up. He could not fix the kids problems with the parents, but he figured he could get them cleaned up and some food in their bellies. And shoes for Alice.

“Let’s go find Jess. Here, lemme boost you up so I can carry you. I don’t want you getting your dirty little feet all cut.”

Alice squealed as he picked her up and set the girl on his shoulders. At first she was tense, but she soon calmed down as she took in the sights from a higher vantage point.

“Where do you think Jess would be right now?” Hank asked.

“Alice?” a young boy’s voice called out. “Are you okay? Why’re you shrieking? Alice, answer me this very second.”

“I’m okay!” she shouted over Hank’s head. “I found something.”

“I think I know where we can find him,” Hank said with a smile as he lumbered in the direction of Jess’s voice.

“What about your fishing pole?” Alice asked.

“I think it’s broke. Ain’t caught nothing since I started,” he said without looking back. “I’ll get me a new one, but let’s see if we can help you two first.”

As a prompt for this piece, I used three runes that I pulled out of my little bag:

ᚺ (nauthiz = hail/change)
ᛟ (othala = family/legacy)
ᛒ (berkanan = birch/beginning)

The whole story, from beginning to end, was improvised on the spot and written in approximately an hour with minimum edits. I wasn’t hardcore in enforcing my prompts, but I think I touched on each of them in some manner.

Let me know if you enjoyed this story in the comments below. Constructive criticism is also welcome as well.